All Season's Shall Be Sweet
by shan14
Summary: There are days when Will doesn't know how he ended up here. Days when everything's too much - but then there are moments like now. Mackenzie is asleep on the lounge with a slumbering Sam against her breast and Will has to pause and collect himself. {Lesson's in Recreational Drug Use Ficlet's}
1. Calm is the Day - 4 months 7 days

**A/N:** And so we begin a new era of Lesson's. I haven't finished Lesson's yet, but it's almost done, and some wonderful people over at tumblr were harassing me and I ended up writing a few ficlets from the Lesson's verse. So this is going to be the official Lesson's verse ficlet story. The chapters mostly won't be related, and they'll jump around a bit in time, but I hope you enjoy. Obviously if you've not read Lesson's this might be as confusing as hell - it's in my profile :) xx

* * *

There are days when Will doesn't know how he ended up here.

Days when everything's too much - too loud and unpleasant and way out of his comfort zone. Days when he and Mackenzie look at each other and he can see reflected back a desperate _what the fuck were we thinking?_

They think that a lot, actually.

It's hard raising a child. And not hard in the way that having your taxi stop 14 blocks away from work is. Or forgetting to fix your tie is. Or even sending an email to a few hundred thousand coworkers _accidentally_ is.

It's hard in a way that he never understood it could be.

There are endless nights of little sleep and piercing screams and a tiny, boneless body shuddering with sobs in his too large arms and his littles boys face contorted in pain and discomfort and the horrible, aching feeling in his stomach that he can do nothing but pace back and forth and rub the kids back.

It's unpleasant smells and juggling a million different toys and bottles and blankets and taking a bag filled with stuff every goddamn place they go, even if it's just the shops; it's having no privacy and Mackenzie always tired and Will always tired and saying the wrong thing on air because Sam had a fever the night before and Will's not slept in over 24 hours.

It's getting that itchy feeling under his skin that he's too old for this life and commitment. That he wants to travel to some far off place and not be tethered to a babies nursery in his fifties. That he wants a life of drinking after work and smoking and swearing (even if the kid can't understand anything yet, he still feels guilty saying _fuck fuck fuck_ in front of his child)

Most importantly, and most terrifying, it's having days when he wants to walk out the front door and never return.

It's hard and it hurts and he and Mackenzie don't know what they're doing and poor Sam gets caught in the crossfire of their stress.

ooo

But then there are moments like now.

It's late afternoon on a Sunday and the apartment is cool as fall continues.

Sam's almost four months old and the wisps of blonde hair across his forehead are bolder. His bright eyes are blue and gaze much too intently and Will loves staring into them, watching them focus on his face and drinking in his stare and then respond with a smile or a waved fist or a spit bubble.

Mackenzie is asleep on the lounge with a slumbering Sam against her breast when Will enters the apartment. She's spread out on her back with a blanket covering the tiny baby and Will has to pause and collect himself a moment.

He's so damn fucking lucky to have this, and he tries to remind himself of that every day.

Mackenzie's eyes flutter open and she smiles sleepily at him with a hand steady on Sam's back. The little boy's body is rising and falling both with his own and his mother's breathing and Will can't think of anything more wonderful to return home to.

"Hey," he smiles, and lowers himself down to her height.

"Want me to take him?" he asks, but she shakes her head.

"No, but you should join us."

Will pauses a second and glances up and down the lounge. It's big, but still a tight fit for the three of them - he thinks of his knee and his back and then thinks fuck it, he'll never have a four months and seven days old son again.

Best enjoy that whilst he can.

"Come here," he mutters, and Mackenzie sits up a second, holding a still snoozing Sam close, and let's Will manoeuvre his way in behind her.

It's awkward and clumsy and she giggles as he swears but then she's settled back against his chest and he's breathing in her vanilla scent and his hand wrests warm and heavy across Sam's back and the little boy twitches in his sleep.

The moment is soft and warm and still; and perfect.


	2. Double Team - 1 month 3 days

**A/N:** because these two are going to have great adventures in the future...

* * *

Sam's one month and three days old the first time Neal holds him.

It's not that he's avoided holding the little boy before that; at the hospital the poor newborn had been passed around the group like a parcel and by the time Neal had nervously shuffled forward to accept the tiny bundle of blankets into his arms a harried nurse had rushed through the room and ordered everyone out, much to Will's amusement, and Neal had been left with empty hands and a sheepish grin and a relieved feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was steadfastly refusing to think about.

He goes home that night and tweets and blogs about the new baby McAvoy and in the morning wades through the mess of comments responding with varied congratulations and criticisms. There's the usual _god bless his little soul_ and _good luck to mom and dad _and sprinkled among it are a few snide comments on Will's abilities as a father.

Nobody needs to see anything negative about Sam so Neal deals with everything as best he can and somewhere between researching a story he hopes to pursue over the following weeks and playing COD with Jim into the late afternoon he forgets his hesitations to hold him.

ooo

Until the next time the group meets and baby Sam is passed around like a parcel and Neal finds himself making a quick excuse about _flow charts_ before running from the room.

ooo

To be clear, Neal doesn't dislike babies. Honestly.

He thinks they're cute and wonderful and all that shit that people are always saying in high, overly dramatic voices. He has a cousin back in London who had a little girl three years ago and he likes seeing the photos her mother posts on instagram of the child growing up. And in some strange way he loves Sam like a little brother; he thinks the entire NewsNight crew think of Will and Mackenzie as sort of parents to them all, so Sam is like a new little sibling that they're welcoming into the fold.

He _wants_ to get to know Sam - wants to share in Maggie's over enthusiastic cooing every time the infant is mentioned and wants to understand the slight smile Will has whenever anyone asks how his little boy's growing up.

But newborn babies are flimsy and fragile and their skin is paper thin and peeling and red and wrinkly and Neal's read enough to know that the back of their head shouldn't be messed with. Whenever he thinks of Sam he gets a funny, warm feeling in his chest but whenever he thinks of _holding_ Sam the funny feeling explodes in a mess of butterflies and all he can see is the face of Sam's parents if he broke their child.

He really doesn't want to incur the wrath of Mackenzie McHale and Will McAvoy any more than he has to.

So he simply chooses _not_ to hold Sam.

ooo

Until one day when Sam is one month and three days old and Mackenzie rushes into the newsroom with a scowl on her face and places a bundle of tightly wrapped blankets in Neal's arms.

He barely hears her instruction to, "Hold him," before she's stormed into Will's office with Charlie a step behind her, and Neal gets caught watching the scene between the three play out as Will's office door slams and their voices all rise.

One day he's going to run a seminar on how _un_-soundproof the glass in this building is, just so they'll understand.

But before that, he has to deal with the small, squirming, whimpering child in his arms.

Fuck.

ooo

He sits down slowly.

The first step in avoiding dropping the child is minimizing the distance between Sam and the floor so Neal settles back in his chair as comfortably as possible and holds the little bundle close to his chest.

He can just make out Sam's face beneath the mess of white and with gentle fingers pushes the blanket away from him until downy white-blonde hair and large blue eyes come into view, and a tiny little nose and pursed lips.

"Hi Sam," he whispers, afraid to startle the child, and can't help but grin when Sam doesn't move or make a noise, just continues to peer up at him in fascination.

"I don't know what your mom and dad are doing but you should probably get used to them arguing over stupid things. They do that a lot."

Sam, completely uninterested in his parent's current disagreement, lifts a curled hand upwards and waves it in Neal's face and then places a well-directed kick right into Neal's chest.

"Ouch."

_Really?_ Neal thinks. Not that it should be surprising that the son of Mackenzie Mchale and Will McAvoy would have a mean streak.

"I'll make you a deal. You sit here and stay quiet and when you're older I'll teach you how to use a computer properly – we'll have you hacking into mainframes before your mom and dad can figure out facebook, okay?"

Sam's fist waves heavily and then his face contorts and just as Neal thinks he's about to scream he lets out a giant sigh, as if the weight of thinking about Neal's proposal was entirely too exhausting for him.

There's a second of silence and then Sam makes a soft, cooing noise and Neal feels his heart melt a little – he understands now why Maggie refuses to let anyone else hold Sam whilst she's around – the tiny boy's peering up at him with deep, open eyes and Neal's already sure that this child's going to be much too smart for all of them.

He can't wait to see him grow up.

ooo

Twenty minutes later Mackenzie peeps around Will's office door, remembering for the first time that she now has a child she has to account for and that she'd left her little boy cradled in Neal's arms whilst she and Charlie double-teamed Will into not responding to a tweet.

"You two okay?" she asks, wandering towards Neal with a soft smile on her face.

The young man's cradling Sam close and whispering to him whilst watching his twitter feed – as she steps closer she can hear Neal explaining the unfolding presidential election to Sam, and she has to bite her lip to stop laughing. The poor child's going to know more about politics and the economy than any other five year old by the time he hits kindergarten.

"You want to keep holding him whilst I go see Sloan?" she asks, and Neal glances up, startled, before nodding at her quickly.

"Yeah," he beams, and Mackenzie notices that Sam has one of Neal's fingers locked in the curl of his fist. "We're cool."


	3. A Crisis of Confidence - 3 years

Will has a crisis of confidence about three times a week.

Sometimes they're rather a mild, like what food to put in Sam's lunchbox for preschool, and other time's they're rather large - like the tight feeling he gets in his chest whenever he worries about being a good father.

The first is easy to deal with because Sam likes the same thing everyday, sliced apple and a tiny cut sandwich with peanut butter and a little chocolate chip cookie and he only deviates from this when he's feeling particularly cheeky and wants to annoy his parents.

And Will's learnt that the second one is just a part of fatherhood - he's always going to worry about Sam and he's always going to feel inadequate, but sometimes Sam will tackle him from behind and throw his little, chubby arms around Will's neck and snuggle into him and it's hard to feel like a bad parent when Sam's chirping, "I love you to the moon and back," repeatedly into his neck.

ooo

On this particular day, however, Will's crisis of confidence announces itself in the form of Will collapsing dramatically onto the bed, knocking the book Mackenzie is reading from her hands so that he can nestle his head into her lap up against her stomach.

"Hello?" Mackenzie grumbles unimpressed, with her glasses hanging off the end of her nose. She reaches for the discarded novel and Will plucks it from her fingers before she can complain.

It's by Annie Proulx, and Will knows she's read it before so he doesn't feel so bad taking it from her. She frowns at him further but then he curls to the side so that he can wrap an arm around her waist and he feels the moment she gives into him; her body relaxes and her fingers go straight to his hair and he almost closes his eyes and falls asleep against her.

But he's _having a crisis,_ he reminds himself.

"I picked Sam up from preschool today," he mutters, and Mackenzie makes a slightly disinterested humming noise.

It's a tuesday and tuesday's and thursday's are Will's days to drop and collect Sam from preschool so the fact that he's telling her this isn't at all groundbreaking.

He still wishes she'd act a little more interested, however.

"I met someone when I was waiting for the kids to come out - he looked about the same age as me; his name was Rob."

"Hmm?"

Mackenzie's fingers are still drifting through his hair but she's also picked up her phone and is scrolling through her emails distractedly and Will takes the time to train a well earned pinch into the skin at her hip, sending her jolting and swearing until she swats at his shoulder.

"Stop it you lug," she mutters, and he grins into her stomach.

Her pyjama top has ridden up a little so he rubs his thumb soothingly over the red skin he pinched and then presses a kiss, and then two and three, right around to her navel.

"Will?" she whines, a little breathless, and he blinks and remembers - _his crisis,_ of course.

"He was nice. We talked about the game last night and then our kids and he mentioned how he was getting a bit old to be running around after young children - he was 58, only a few years older than me, and we laughed and it as nice," and Will sighs, because up until that point everything had been wonderful.

"I thought _finally someone who understands," _he mutters, and Mackenzie tickles her fingers along the back of his scalp, kneading them into his neck in the way she knows he loves.

"And then the bastard mentioned how it was worth it, being a grandfather, and for a brief second I wanted to hit him."

Mackenzie, to her credit, doesn't say anything for a full ten seconds, just lets her fingers drift lazily up into his hair and play with the strands as Will fumes.

"He was the kids grandfather! 58 and he was waiting for his three year old granddaughter and here I was waiting for my three year old son!"

And now Mackenzie chuckles and mutters, "And?"

"And -" Will splutters, "And I was reminded all over again how fucking," he pauses and takes a deep breathe and Mackenzie's fingers stop, resting heavy on his scalp, "how fucking old I am," he finally mutters.

She snorts this time.

Honestly, sometimes Will adores this woman (all the time, actually) but sometimes she's outright mean.

Will twists until he's lying on his back with his head across her thighs and her face peering down at him, glasses still hanging askew across her nose. Her hair is longer than it was when Sam was born, it lies just below her shoulders now, and for about six months when Sam was a baby he'd taken great delight in stuffing as much of it into his hands and his mouth as possible before Mackenzie caught him.

Now and her hair's out and messy around her face and Will can't help but love how scholarly and unkempt she looks at the same time. She pulls the glasses from her nose and fixes a steady glance on him and Will feels like a bug under the microscope, ready to be examined thoroughly.

"Doesn't it bother you that I'm going to turn 60 before my son turns 10?" he asks, hating how small his voice sounds in the quiet bedroom.

"No."

Her answer is immediate and resolute and it makes Will feel a little better.

But then she adds, "It concerns me that my partner is turning 60 before I turn 50 but that's another matter," with a teasing lilt and Will turns his head again and bites into her stomach.

"Stop it," he mutters, and she giggles with an impish grin.

"Honestly Will, you can't change how old you are, neither can I. But I know Sam wouldn't change you for the world, so does it really matter?"

He pauses - thinks of sunday's in the park with Sam and how the little boy's always more interested in strolling at a snail pace through the gardens, looking for bugs; how he loves to sit in Will's lap in his office and be read to for hours on end about anything - dinosaurs to federal laws to foreign affairs to Babar the Elephant; how he likes climbing into bed with his parents and lazing across them in the early morning with his bony elbows stuck in Will's oesophagus.

Sam's got the energy of any three year old but also a slow, languorous attitude to life and if he's honest, Will doesn't feel like he's lagging behind. More often that not he's the one tugging at Sam's tiny hand to get him moving down the pavement.

"No," he mutters, still a little grumpy but moving beyond it, "I guess it doesn't."

"He loves you because you're his father and you love him - and you play the guitar with him and read to him and a million other reasons. Nothing you do or are will change that, no matter how old you get. We're stuck with him so you can't back out now."

"I don't want to back out," Will grumbles, and Mackenzie chuckles, nodding knowingly.

"It's scary though. I understand."

Will huffs gently but then reaches a hand up to brush his finger along her cheek and Mackenzie blushes, closing her eyes at the touch.

"It's late, we should sleep old man," she teases, and only just avoids Will's tickling finger as he sits up and crowds close.

He wrestles her down into the bed and lets her crawl into his personal space and her arm is heavy and warm across his chest as her breaths even out, drifting to sleep.

Will is almost asleep himself, caught somewhere wonderful and boneless, when he remembers something.

"Wait do you really care that I'm turning 60 before you're 50?"

Mackenzie pinches him in the side and slides her hand around his chest and grumbles, "Shut up."


	4. Halcyon Days - 21 months

**A/N:** so I have these two wonderful friends and at first I thought they were wonderful but then they went to a beach and found a little footprint and wrote sam's name over it and sent me the picture so now I'm a mess who was forced to write this and yeah. blame them please.

* * *

They take a holiday to the beach when Sam is 21 months old.

It's a last minute thing born of too many late nights at work and Sam's ever growing love of running rings around the kitchen bench now that he can walk steadily. He's reaching a stage where they could really use a backyard, somewhere large and spacious to run around on his tiny little legs, and Mackenzie keeps eyeing the balcony warily, afraid that the one year old's going to figure out how to open the large glass doors, climb up onto the railings and tip himself over the edge in a bid for freedom (Will simply rolls his eyes and tells her she's crazy, but still makes sure the door's locked).

They hire a house for a week on a quiet strip of sand and even though it's still early Spring, the weather is warm enough that Mackenzie wears tiny shorts and spaghetti singlet tops the entire time they're there. The first day they arrive she and Will collapse on to the king sized bed in the bedroom and even though they can hear Sam cluttering around the living area, chattering to himself in his made up language, they both take a minute to close their eyes and contemplate sleep.

"Can't nap," Mackenzie mutters, pushing at his shoulders, "Sam," she reminds him, and Will groans into the downy pillow. It's so nice not to have to worry about work and broadcasts and international disasters for a couple of days, but fatherhood doesn't go on vacation and by the sounds of it, Sam has discovered something that will open and shut (he goes through multiple phases, including the two weeks he refused to eat anything off a spoon, the few days he would only crawl even though he'd learnt to walk when he was ten months old, and now he's learnt that hiding in cupboards is a fun and amusing game to play to annoy his parents).

Will pushes himself up off the bed and stumbles into the living area to find Sam halfway inside the television cabinet.

ooo

The air is crisper outside the city and even though it's nothing like the air in Nebraska, Will loves that he can take deeper breathes and not have to worry about chocking on car exhumes. It's salty and clean and reminds him of the one vacation he took to the beach when he was a child – he was almost fifteen before he saw the ocean – but Sam's only 21 months old and already he's about to brave the sea air and waves for the first time.

In the morning Mackenzie refuses to get out of bed so Will leaves her to spread out across the cool bed sheets and enjoy how they feel against her naked skin (and that's the other wonderful thing about vacation, they feel like they've a legitimate excuse to have sex more often, the child in the other room be damned) and wanders aimlessly into the adjoining bedroom to find Sam sitting up in the cot, singing quietly to himself.

"Morning," Will grunts, and Sam's little head perks up and turns to him. His hair's a little crazy at the moment because Mackenzie refuses to find the time to have it cut. He has curls and ringlets behind his ears and down around his neck and whilst Will agrees that it's cute, he also believes in hairdressers. Sam almost looks like a child of the sixties and that's far too close for comfort for Will.

His little boy's eyes are still blue, though a darker shade then when he was born, and his hair is a sandy blonde that mimics Will's when he was that age. Mackenzie once found an old photo album of Will and his siblings and spent an entire afternoon sifting through them with an amazed smile on her face, marvelled by how close Sam and Will looked as toddlers – blonde and blue eyed and with small but cheeky smiles.

Now, Will leans down and ruffles Sam's wayward hair affectionately and Sam beams back at him, nudging his head back into Will's palm like a goddamn cat. He chirps a good morning and then holds up the toy in his hand for Will to inspect; it's a Tonka truck that Neal gave him a few weeks ago and Sam's refused to let it go ever since. He's very protective of his toys – the teddy bear Sloan presented to Will and Mackenzie at the hospital when Sam was first born is so well worn now that it's fur is almost grey and has been dragged around behind the toddler ever since he could walk, and the blanket he sleeps with is chewed in some corners because Sam went through a stage when he was trying to eat through the ribbon edge.

Will doesn't understand his sons desire to eat nearly everything surrounding him, but he spends more time pulling things from between Sam's tiny teeth than he ever thought was possible – paper and leaves and blankets and even Will's wallet, on a memorable Monday morning at work when Mackenzie hadn't been able to get Sam to playgroup yet and so the little boy was dumped on Will's desk until one of them was free.

Will takes the truck and inspects it studiously, he learnt long ago that when Sam shared something it was because he wanted you to share in his joy, and that usually meant eyeing the object critically before smiling happily at the toddler and nodding once or twice.

"Are you excited about the beach?" Will asks, placing the truck back down into the cot and gripping Sam underneath his arms to hoist him upwards – he's getting heavier by the day and Will's dreading the time when he won't be able to carry him around, but at the moment Sam's still small enough that he can tuck his legs up beneath him and curl around Will's chest and into his neck, and Will loves the possessive feeling of Sam's fingers digging in to the skin of his shoulder.

"Where?" Sam asks, swinging his head from side to side. He knows about the beach because Mackenzie's spent the last week showing him pictures and reading him stories about the water, but they arrived late in the afternoon yesterday so Sam's still not been outside to see it in person. Will jostles him in his arms to stop his little head turning round and round comically, and Sam fixes him with an unimpressed frown, like Will's lied to him about the beach for his own enjoyment.

"Outside Sam," Will explains, but Sam's frown only deepens.

Will points out the open door, and then thinks fuck it, it might still be six in the morning but that's the perfect time to watch the day begin over the water. Sam's wearing his pyjamas but Will takes a moment to tug on a pair of jeans over his boxers and then lifts Sam back up again to walk with him out the back door.

The house opens up onto the beach, the sand running right up the back porch, and the waves are only a few lengths away from where Will ends up standing. Sam goes stiff in his arms a moment, as if the sight of the water and the sand is all too much, but then he relaxes and rocks forward in Will's arms insistently, straining to be let down.

"Not so quick, we're looking first," Will tells him, and Sam whines pitifully as if it's the worst punishment he can imagine.

Will grips him tighter under his legs and shuffles him a little higher up his chest, pointing out across the waves with his free arm, "That's the ocean, Sam. Later today we'll go swimming, okay?" and Sam nods and presses his cold nose into Will's cheek.

"Swim _now_," the little boy suggests, "Now daddy."

"Not now. Breakfast now. Swim later," and Will really needs to stop talking in two worded sentences one of these days.

He never used to – he has the vocabulary of a fucking scholar and a way with words that earned him a 94% conviction rate once upon a time but at the age of 54 he's been reduced to speaking like fucking Dr. Seuss, all in the name of convincing his one year old. He chuckles to himself ruefully but then Sam digs his hand into Will's cheek and grins impishly at him and demands a banana for breakfast and Will finds himself unable to care that once upon a time he wasn't this person.

Mackenzie, with her prolix wit and intent to argue with him over everything imaginable, keeps him sharp; Sam just makes him softer, or more loveable, as Sloan likes to tease.

"How about pancakes?" Will insists, because pancakes are always a popular choice in their household, and Sam hums happily at the thought, patting Will's cheek. He has his knees hitched up around Will's chest and Will likes to think of it as his monkey hold; when Sam was 18 months the two of them had started a little circus routine where Sam would climb up and all over Will's back and scare the hell out of Mackenzie by dangling off him.

It had amused Will endlessly, but also left him feeling strangely warm and right because the amount of mindless trust that Sam puts in him (to love him and catch him and keep him feed and warm) is ridiculous; sometimes he can't quite comprehend that there's a person in the world that loves him without fault.

He turns with Sam still hanging from his shoulder and the little boy watches the ocean disappear with a pout. Will sets him down on the kitchen bench with a stern reminder not to fall off and Sam nods dramatically, his curls bouncing around his ears. They have very strict kitchen instructions that basically boil down to Sam being allowed to climb all over any bench top and help with all the cooking as long as he promises not to touch anything without permission (especially the _hot hot hot_ things, as Sam calls them) or to go near the edges and fall. Mackenzie hates that Will lets him clamber all over the place, constantly keeping an eye on his movements, but Will's always lived with the belief that if he doesn't let Sam do thing's he'll only end up wanting them more, so he may as well let the one year old throw butter into the pancake mixture and save them all the hassle (even if it does make cooking a messy, lengthy process).

He holds the mixing bowl out to Sam and lets him inspect it; Sam leans over with his legs tucked beneath him on the bench and purses his lips together in an imitation of his mother's studious face. Mackenzie always has a slight crinkle in her brow when ever she's deep in thought, and Will can already see it mirrored in Sam. He might have Will's looks but he has almost all of Mackenzie's mannerisms, and Will takes a strange delight in pointing them all out to her, just to see her squirm.

"Good?" he asks Sam, and Sam responds, "Yes," quickly.

Will watches Sam out the corner of his eyes as he pours the first lot of pancake mix into the pan; Sam has leant across the bench and is rummaging through the fruit bowl in the middle of it. He holds up a banana and gazes intently at his father, "Banana, Daddy?" Sam asks, and Will nods, because _yeah, that's a banana kiddo._

"What about it Sam?"

"In."

Will pauses, "in what?"

"_In_," Sam stresses, as if that should be obvious.

Will sometimes thinks it was easier understanding the garbled mess of witnesses they used to bring to him in Boston, from the women talking a mile a minute to those so stoned out of their minds that Will had to guess half their words. Mackenzie's always found it easier understanding Sam's intentions, but Will's slowly learning. He figures by the time Sam graduates to proper sentences he'll have figured out what the half-formed ones mean.

"In what, buddy? Use your words."

Sam huffs and frowns with the perpetual disdain he seems to hold for his parents – he adores them, and lets them know with slobbery kisses and smiles and tackle hugs – but he's also developing a steady appreciation for glaring at them as if they're idiots - not that Will doesn't think he and Mackenzie don't deserve it some of the time.

Sam rocks forward, depositing the banana in the middle of the hot pan, and now Will understands.

"Oh. Thanks. Word of advice though, Samuel, the banana goes in _before_ you start cooking," but Sam merely rocks back and nods as if he's accomplished his task.

"Down daddy, please down," he announces, and holds out his hands to Will pleadingly. The banana seems to be the last thing on his mind so Will scoops him up and presses a deep, wet kiss on his cheek until Sam squeals loudly in delight, and then drops him down carefully onto the kitchen tiles, sending a cursory glance to the back door to make sure it's closed.

Sam scampers off towards the bedroom and Will thinks, _good, wake up your mother, then she can join me_, and minutes later when Mackenzie's tiredly animated voice drifts through the house, entertaining Sam with a story about sea monsters, Will can't help but smile happily and flip another pancake.

ooo

They get down to the water later that morning, after messy pancakes in bed and Sam spreading syrup all over Will's cheek.

Mackenzie kisses it off with tiny licks that leave nothing to the imagination and only the sound of Sam demanding, "Water._Now_ Mummy!" has Mackenzie leaning back and not climbing into his lap.

They collect a bag full of beach toys and towels and with Sam's hands held firmly between them, the trio set off down the beach.

Sam's tiny bare feet hit the sand for the first time and he immediately stops, a delighted look on his face, and Mackenzie and Will are forced to halt and wait patiently as he digs his toes into the granules.

His little golden head, covered in layers of sunscreen and a sunhat, tips up to look between his parents and Will feels his smile before he even thinks about it – and it's strange how nowadays he finds himself grinning at his son without reason. Sam's delight at life is stupidly infectious and Will can't help but enjoy little moments, like nap time and reading books about dinosaurs and walking along the sand like he's experiencing them for the first time too.

"I think he likes it," Mackenzie laughs, and Will nods and lets his gaze sweep over here.

Her shorts are white this morning and the spaghetti straps of her shirt are falling down her pale shoulders. She has sunglasses shading her eyes and if Will weren't afraid she'd smack him, he'd reach over and pluck them from her face because he hates not being able to see them.

"Sam, we want to get to the water sometime today," Will announces, and Sam's head perks up from where he's busy digging his toes into the sand. He looks between his parents again and whilst Mackenzie smiles encouragingly at him, Will merely glares back, daring the toddler to disobey.

He crinkles his nose in annoyance at his father, but then takes one tiny step forward and Will and Mackenzie take the opportunity to lift him clean off his feet and race him towards the water, ignoring his startled squeals.

ooo

In the late afternoon Mackenzie falls asleep with a book draped across her stomach, leant back against a pillow of towels and with a droopy sun hat shading her face.

Will's arms are killing him because he's been holding Sam in the water for the better part of three hours, but the little boys wide eyes and delighted exclamations when ever the waves broke gently around them had been worth the time spent standing awkwardly waist deep in the water, getting splashed every time Sam decided that slapping his hands against the sea was a fun game.

After lunch they'd managed to convince Sam to staying along the waters edge, and Will's spent the time studiously watching the toddler waddle along the edge of the water in his swimsuit, his long shirt pulled down over his arms but his bare legs a blinding white that Mackenzie has insisted on keeping covered in sunscreen every hour. He's presented twenty four shells, a collection of rocks, and multiple strings of seaweed to Will, and every time he comes up to his father holding something new he stands in between Will's bent legs and hooks his arm over Will's shoulder, leaning their heads together so they can inspect it.

Sam loves nature like it's his own personal playground – snow and leaves and dirt and grass and his favourite outing is to the park to collect rocks and smell flowers. He's fascinated by the sky and the change in weather and takes delight every time it rains; already Will can see him as a scientist and the beach only opens up a multitude of new and exciting natural phenomena for the boy to explore, and Will's privy to all his findings.

"Shell," Will explains, holding up the smooth, curved object, and Sam whispers the word to himself, turning over the sounds in his mouth, before loudly chirping it back at Will, "Shell daddy, _look_," and presses it into Will's face.

After the tenth shell is pushed into his eyesight Will tackles Sam around the waist and tugs him so that Sam's resting back against his chest, standing in the sand with Will sitting behind him. He squirms a little, but then Will holds him tight around his middle and Sam settles back with his head leant against Will's shoulder.

"Did you have a good day?" Will asks, gazing out across the water.

He can feel the sun on his back and curses inwardly because he forgot to apply sunscreen himself the last two times Mackenzie went on her rampage and his skin feels a little too hot and tight for it not to be burnt; but at least Sam's baby fine skin is as pearly white as the day he was born.

"Yes," Sam announces, clipped and quick, and then he stiffens and yells in alarm, pointing out across the beach,"Daddy the bird!"

His little feet stamp up and down in the sand and Will can't quite tell if he's excited or fearful, either way he's pushing himself back into Will's arms so he tightens his grip on Sam and follows his gaze to the flock of gulls settling down the beach from them.

"They're called gulls," Will explains, patting Sam's stomach, and Sam makes a disgruntled face as if the sight of the birds doesn't agree with him.

"No," he declares, and Will chuckles a little – Sam's use of the word _no_ is extensive; whenever he's angry or upset or annoyed with something he'll announce it loudly, and Will and Mackenzie have spent many an hour doing battle with Sam's frown.

"They aren't going anywhere," Will tells him, and Sam wriggles in his arms to try and escape.

"Home?" the toddler suggests.

Will shrugs, "Sure, but what about mummy?" and Sam takes a cursory glance over Will's shoulder. His frown deepens and Will resists the urge to laugh because he looks like he wants to shake Mackenzie for daring sleep through the gull attack.

"Leave her," Sam announces decidedly, climbing up Will's body to try and launch himself over his shoulder. Will chuckles and pushes himself upwards with a groan and then with energy he really doesn't have, throws Sam's wriggly, protesting body over his shoulder.

"Fine," he grunts, Sam's knee colliding with his cheek, "But you're explaining to her when she comes complaining about being deserted."

ooo

Mackenzie, fresh from a nap and warmed by the sun, returns to the house to find Will sound asleep on the bed, the overhead fan whirling slowly and pushing cool air through the room and over his starfished frame.

She chuckles and pats his knee fondly as she passes, only mildly worried about Sam's whereabouts because the little boy is only this quiet when he's asleep. She finds him in his cot with his blanket pulled up over his face and his tiny fists curled into balls like they would when he was a newborn.

She brushes her fingers across his head, and his eyes flicker open sleepily, and Mackenzie only feels a little guilty because whilst he should be napping, she'd much rather spend the time with him.

"Hello monster," she murmurs, and Sam whines sleepily, holding an arm out and unclenching his fingers in a request to be held. She scoops him up and he tucks his face into her neck and grips her tightly and Mackenzie rocks him back and forth, his weight heavy in her arms.

"Gulls mama," he whispers into her skin, and Mackenzie frowns and pushes her head back so she can look at him. "_Scary_," Sam explains, and she chuckles, catching on.

"They're not scary little boy, they're only birds. You're the scary one."

"No."

"Oh yes," Mackenzie sighs, amused, "The birds are only small – you're much bigger than them. They must be terrified of you," and Sam's head shuffles on her shoulder a little, as if he's considering the possibility.

"Me?" he whimpers, and Mackenzie nods.

"That's why we have to be nice to the birds, remember? Like the ones in the park. If you're nice to them they'll be nice to you."

Sam pauses a moment, but then he hums and sighs gently, accepting the answer.

"I don't know if it works that way," comes a rumbly voice, and Mackenzie turns with Sam half asleep on her hip to find a tired Will leant against the doorframe.

"Does it matter?" she asks, and Will shrugs and pushes off the frame to walk towards her.

"Guess not. Not when you're two, at least," he adds, and pushes the stubborn curls of blonde back around Sam's ears.

"He doesn't like the gulls," Will explains, and Mackenzie nods with a small smile.

"Do you know the origins of Halcyon Days," she announces suddenly, and Will shrugs and shakes his head fondly, accustomed to her random trivia.

"The Halcyon was a Greek bird, what we would call a Kingfisher, and it was believed that when the kingfisher was brooding her eggs in the Aegean Sea for 14 days a year, that the waves would be at their calmest."

"Hence, halcyon days," Will interrupts, understanding.

"Yeah. I loved that story when I was young. I had a book of myths that my father would read to me –"

"Was this before or after the poetry?" and Mackenzie blushes, sending him a quick glare.

"_Before," and she pauses thoughtfully, _"I never had many true halcyon days before now," she murmurs, and Will shakes his head in agreement.

Sam's fast asleep and draped across her shoulder and Mackenzie's cheeks are flushed red with the sea air and sun. Works been terrible lately – too many late nights with one of them at the office and the other at home after the broadcast and Will hates that they're being dragged away from each other so often, and both of them away from Sam. But things will slow eventually and even if they don't, they have moments like today.

"We've got a whole week of them," Will reminds her, and Mackenzie hums low and happy, leaning against his side.

ooo

Later that afternoon they take a walk along the beach with Sam between them and whilst he still wants to stop and inspect every shell and stone, they manage to get a good way down the beach before the sun starts setting. Their footprints scatter behind them and Sam keeps glancing back over his tiny marks, fascinated by how they match, so Mackenzie takes a picture of one and then Will smiles delightedly and writes Sam's name in the sand above his footprint.

"That's you," he tells the toddler, and Sam frowns at the name before smiling slowly.

"Me!"

"Yeah, monster," Mackenzie laughs, and tickles him until his giggles are lost in the wind.

She sends a copy of the photo to Sloan and Jim, trusting them to pass it on to the rest of the crew and by the time they return home and Sam's been put to bed and Mackenzie is sprawled across Will's lap with a bottle of red shared between them she has five messages back ranging from, "cute!" to, "stop teasing."

"We should do this more often," Mackenzie sighs, voice muffled against Will's neck and he stops drawing teasing patterns against the bare skin of her thigh to pinch her side lightly and tease.

"Vacation or sex?" he asks, anticipating her glare.

"Both," she demands, and Will laughs and tugs her leg closer across him.

"Okay," he murmurs, and kisses her with a hand in her hair, mumbling against her lips, "both sounds good."


	5. Like a Boat Out on the Ocean - 2 weeks

It's four in the morning and for the first time in two weeks Mackenzie's head doesn't feel like it's throbbing with exhaustion; that's the first sign that something is amiss.

The second is the notable absence of Will from the other side of the bed.

ooo

Usually her other half is a human furnace that she gravitates towards. By morning she always has an arm or a leg slung over him and Will usually ends up with his fingers tangled in her hair.

Even though it's summer Mackenzie still sleeps with her hand resting across his waist, but now the sheets on the other side of the bed are cool and empty and Mackenzie feels like something fundamental is missing - or that perhaps she's missing out on something fundamental.

Her two week old son and her other half are both suspiciously quiet.

And that can only mean one thing.

ooo

"Again?" she asks, somewhere hazy between amused and exhausted.

Mackenzie leans lazily against the doorframe and crosses her arms across her chest, watching the nocturnal pair sway gently.

"He was awake," Will whispers in defence and Mackenzie doesn't bother to ask if that's because Will was hovering over him.

"And now?"

Will continues rocking from side to side, Sam cradled gently in his arms and wrapped tight in a soft white blanket, "Almost there," he whispers softly, gazing down at the little boys face.

It's sweet, Mackenzie concedes, how Will's taken to rising at odd hours and peering over the side of Sam's cot to make sure he's toes and his fingers and his head is still attached. The little boy's barely two weeks old and while most things are still utterly foreign to both parents - like how to bathe a baby; how to comfort a baby; how to tell when Sam is hungry or tired or angry or wants cuddles; and everything else in between - there are other things that they're good at - singing to him; cuddling him; begging him to be quiet.

Will especially has taken extra delight in strumming his guitar gently and watching Sam's eyes flutter open at the sound. Mackenzie had watched tentatively as Will had tried it the first time when Sam was five days old, strangely terrified for Will that Sam would start crying, thus shattering his father's belief that music soothes all souls, but Sam had merely whimpered and then settled and sighed softly and Will had continued playing old Beatles tunes for almost an hour, humming along to most of them and contently watching his son sleep.

A week later and Mackenzie can see one of Will's guitars propped against the couch next to where he stands, rocking their slumbering newborn back and forth, and wonders what tunes where on show this time - Van Morrison, perhaps? Or maybe Billy Joel. She has a vague memory of _Lullaby_ drifting through the otherwise silent apartment.

Mackenzie pushes herself off the doorframe and wanders towards Will and Sam, stood in the middle of the large room. Through the windows the city skyline twinkles and even though it's four in the morning, she still finds it oddly beautiful. The apartment isn't very practical to raise a child in but it's home for now, and she loves it in a strange way. It's where her family's started to knit itself together - strewn with Will's books and guitars and Mackenzie's shoes and papers and Sam's blankets and toys and already photos of the three of them.

"Come to bed," she whispers, leant against Will's shoulder, and he hums before pressing Sam into her arms. She takes him gratefully and tucks her nose against the downy smattering of hair across his head - he smells like newborn and spit up and soap and she loves it.

Will slides an arm around her waist and tugs her towards the bedroom and once there she lays Sam gently and slowly into his bassinet, praying he doesn't wake so they can claim a few more minutes of sleep before dawn.

"He has good taste," Will whispers moments later, curled around her in bed.

"He's two weeks old, he can barely keep his eyes open," she mutters drolly, and Will is quiet for a few seconds.

If Mackenzie closes her eyes and listens carefully she can believe she can hear Sam's faint breathes from the bassinet across the room, and the steady thump of Will's heart beneath her ear, and the rhythm and bump of New York city that is always alive, no matter what time, lulling her to sleep. It's comforting in the same way Will's solid chest at her back is, and the knowledge that Sam's only a few steps away, and she breathes out slowly, exhausted.

And then through the darkness, "I still say he has better taste than you."

She falls asleep smiling; exhausted but content.


End file.
